taming a wolf
by planless
Summary: In which Tywin Lannister is unable to look after what he considers his. Rated T to be safe. Oneshot.


**Taming a Wolf**

* * *

He's not quite sure what possessed him when he decided to keep the little wolf close.

He ought to have her locked up back at Casterly Rock, keep her out of meddling hands and greedy eyes until the time had come to show his hand, to drop his final bargaining chip on the table. But there is something in her – something fierce and primal, hidden away behind the pretty façade of a girl, and only sometimes does he see it shine in her eyes, like the momentary flashing of a coin passed along in the light of a candle.  
Sometimes he wonders if she might be part wolf. It would be a shame, really, to keep her locked up – the wolf, prowling inside a girl, the girl, tucked away behind iron bars. She'd probably die. Tywin knows that wolves need to roam free and wild, and he, who values control and conduct above all else, for once in his life decides against his better judgement.

He lets her roam free.

He curses his own weakness when one day he comes back to his chambers at King's Landing and finds her gone. There is no trace of the girl, and he rages through the night, loudly at first, smashing bowls and cups – _the fucking cups for a fucking cup-bearer to carry_ –, quietly later on, when his anger has simmered down and is forging itself into something sharp and unforgiving. He'll wrangle the neck of the next wolf he sees, strangle them into submission – he'll check himself.  
He's misjudged, and he will not do so again.

* * *

Almost a week later, while he is pouring over scrolls and ledgers, a cold gust whispers over the back of his neck, and when he gets up to close the window, there she is, in all her feral glory. Propped up against the wooden frame, she observes him languidly from slate grey eyes, one leg bent, the other dangling lazily back and forth, like a cat's tail. She is wrapped in men's clothing, too large on her wiry frame, dark in colour and cinched tightly around her waist by a worn out belt from which a dagger dangles. His thoughts flash to the guards standing before his door, unaware of the intruder, and for a second he toys with the idea of calling them in but then decides against it. He is a lion and able to wrestle any wolf into submission, be it yet so feral – and this one is still a mere pup.

"So, you've come back," he drawls quietly, pushing back against the anger flaring up again inside his chest. It is mixed with a twinge of curiosity and the faintest hint of excitement – here sits something which yet seems to elude his control. If anything, the girl perched upon his windowsill represents a challenge. "Judging by the dagger at your belt I assume it is to kill me." She doesn't answer, merely looks, one corner of her mouth twitching upwards ever so slightly.

He is growing annoyed with her continued silence. Half-bowing to her in a mockery of the court rules she seems to hate with such a passion, he extends one hand towards her. "Would you prefer to come in? Even if you do not, I would - it is getting rather draughty." The half-smile on her face widens and elegantly she slides her hand into his. The moment they touch, his anger reignites with the force of a hundred explosions and in the blink of an eye he's pulled her off the windowsill and slammed her against the heavy table. His hands are at her throat and his weight is pushing her back, until she's pressed flat onto the table top, spread all over his scrolls and ledgers and neatly thought out plans like a stain of ink.  
A stain of ink with a knife, he thinks, breath coming heavily as he feels the tip of her dagger pressing against his jugular. A cold bead of sweat rolls down his neck to disappear into his collar. His heart is hammering away inside his chest as he stares into her eyes, grey and cold as the North she hails from.

"You left," he growls against the steel pressing into his skin.

"You let me," she answers, almost accusatory. He eases up on his grip on her throat to allow her to speak. "If you don't want your things to get lost, you ought to take better care of them."

He bares his teeth and beneath him, she mirrors his action, the wolf willing the lion to bite. "I ought to have you flogged," he snaps and for a moment, he thinks he sees triumph flashing in her eyes.

"You won't, though," she says and sounds so sure he almost scoffs at her false bravado.

"Tell me why not," he demands. She smiles at him, wide and open and soft. "Because I came back." He has got no answer for her now.

"This dagger," she manages in a raspy whisper. The cold metal presses further into his skin, nicking it. "It's made from Valyrian steel. Dragonbone handle. It's one of a kind."

"And you went out of your way to get it, just for me? I am flattered, little wolf." In the flickering light of the candles, her eyes shine cruel and angry. "Whoever said it was meant for you?" With a nimble twist of her gangly body, she throws her free arm around his neck and pulls him down with surprising strength, not once relinquishing her hold on the dagger. Her cool cheek slides over his and a shiver races down his spine when she puts her lips against his ear and whispers. "Meryn Trant … Ilyn Paine … The Mountain … The Hound … Cersei … Joffrey …" She slowly lets herself sink back down, her face hovering ever so close in front of his.  
For a long second, they stare at each other, eyes shining and breath mingling.

"Tywin Lannister," she whispers against his lips, and never before has the prospect of his own death sounded so sweet, so menacing, so utterly enticing.

"Very well then, little wolf," he whispers back, fingers closing once more around her throat so hard they are sure to leave marks. He can see her gasping, struggling for air, face turning blue, and yet the dagger does not move. With a cruel shove that slams her hard against the tabletop, he lets go of her and steps back, watching as she gulps down air greedily.

"We will see how your little game turns out."

* * *

 _ **A/N:** Just a dumb little something that I had floating around in my magical folder of nightly ramblings. Sometimes I like to go back and read it, so now I thought I'd share it with the world. _

_In my mind, Arya is always older than in the books, so that maybe makes this scene a little less disturbing age- and childabusewise. Whatevs._

 _Please ignore any and all mistakes I might have made when it comes to GoT lore, but you are welcome to point out all the typos you find!_

 _lots of love,_

 _planless_


End file.
